


A State of Grey

by iamjustabi



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Coma, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamjustabi/pseuds/iamjustabi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I needed to be there for him, like he was always there for me. So every day I visited him and I waited for him. All that mattered, all that had ever mattered, was Frank and my main fear right now was: would I be ever able to tell him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A State of Grey

**Author's Note:**

> Hi this is my first fic ever. Hopefully you guys will enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.  
> This was written for #Prompt18 on http://everythingsfrerardnothinghurts.tumblr.com/prompts

I hated the smell. That was the first thing I thought every time I walked through the hospital doors, the pungent smell of bleach and disinfectant wafting through the air. It smelt too cold, too clinical. Too clean. 

My favorite thing about New Jersey was the filth, the grime and the general dirtiness. Most people move away from cities like Jersey for that sort of thing, but it was the reason I loved it. I guess it was kind of comforting in a way to me, maybe it reminded me a little of myself, which made me think. When was the last time I’d had a shower? Maybe a week and a half give or take a few days? I’d didn't shower too often before the accident, but now little things like showering, eating and sleeping didn't mean much to me. All that mattered, all that had ever mattered, was Frank and my main fear right now was: would I be ever able to tell him?

I approached the coma ward and sat down next to Frank. It was a private room paid for by his family, for which I was forever grateful. 

“How y’doing Frank?” I asked knowing I wouldn't get a reply. I just wanted it to feel more like everything was normal, that I was just talking to Frank, rather than talking at a coma patient. 

Frank was my boyfriend. We’d been together for about two years, and we’d been living together for about just as long. I don't believe in love at first sight, but the moment I saw him in the center of a crowd of a seedy bar, throwing himself around in the sea of people to the beat of a steady pounding drum and deafening noise of the guitar from the unusually-not-crappy band that was playing, I knew he was something, preferably a something that was a part of my life. He was definitely my type, whatever that was. He was tattooed, a little on the short side (though I knew if I ever said that to him I would risk getting a not-so-playful kick to the shin), dark haired and full of energy. If I had a type, he would be it.

When he finally left the crowd to get himself a drink I pulled myself together and gathered any small amount of courage I could muster and reminded myself, if this didn't work out and tattoo guy turned out to be a bigoted homophobe who took it upon himself to beat the shit outta me then fine, I would be any less of a loser than I already was.

“H-hi, could I erm, could I….y’know, a drink? Would it be okay if I, um” I stuttered as tattoo guy gave me a curious look “if I bought you a- never mind I’ll just-”

“Dude, it’s cool, buy me a drink.” he smiled. And what a smile it was. Not one of those half-hearted smiles or an ‘I’m-too-cool-for-you-smirk’ smiles, but a proper grin. He smiled with his entire face, his chapped lips stretched, showing almost all of his ever so slightly crooked teeth, and his deep brown eyes lighting up. God, you could literally feel energy radiating off him. When I got home I was so drawing him as a superhero with happiness beams coming from his fingertips. 

“My name’s Frank, by the way.”

“Gerard” I replied. 

“So what brings you here Gerard- cheesy I know but hey, who doesn't love a little cheesy?”

“Uh well my brother, Mikey, works at the bar and he told me the band here tonight was meant to be really good so, I thought I’d show.” I left out the part about how Mikey had only recently got me out of our mom’s basement, helped me sober up and how going to a bar was part of the transitioning. I had to be okay with being around alcohol.

“Mikey Way?”

“Yea”

“Dude! Mikey’s a cool guy! I think he’s talked about you before, you’re a comic book writer right? That’s so cool. Don’t tell me, let me guess, you seem like a Doom Patrol kind of guy.”

“Yes! Man, Grant Morrison, fuckin’ A! I did an art internship at DC right, and I was just taking some stuff to the printer and I kid you not, saw Grant Morrison- I didn’t talk to him or anything but it was so weird. Like, you see them, famous people, in photos or read interviews in magazines or whatever, but then you actually see them and it’s just- different, y’know?”

“No, I get you. Grant Morrison. That’s so cool man. Mikey’s told me about your comic- The Umbrella Academy? He said you were gonna get published by Dark Horse! That, is cool.”

“Well it’s been submitted and it’s being reviewed at the moment it’s nothing big but I’m really excited about it. I feel like I’m finally getting somewhere. How do you know Mikey?”

“Well, I’m in a band; we’re called Pencey Prep-”

“You like The Catcher in the Rye?”

“Understatement of the year, my friend, it’s my favorite book of all time ever. Holden Caulfield tells it like it is. Anyway basically we’re nothing big but we play here sometimes and well yea, Mikey works her, as you know and… We just kinda met y’know? Bonded over a mutual love of The Smashing Pumpkins- your brother, by the way, is the biggest pumpkin head in existence. You should totally come see us play sometime.”

“That’d be awesome.”

We talked throughout the night and at the end we exchanged numbers. Three days later I got a call from Frankie. I went to see Pencey Prep play and not only were they fucking amazing, but Frank was possibly one of the best performers I’d ever seen. His singing was a little whiny and nasally, but his lyrics spoke more than singing ever could, and had an endearing jersey twang. When he played, he fucking played. He got lost in the music, he spaced out and jumped around, rolled on the floor and made frantic, erratic movements- like the sound was air and he was gasping for breath to survive.

It was the third time I went to see Pencey Prep. Frank was crazy on stage, as per usual- but he wasn't in his own little world. He seemed almost distracted. And then we made eye contact. His eyes were darker than soot, his jaw was slack and he was soaked in sweat. His stare made everything else turn into a haze. I felt drunk, the room was spinning, but I was 7 months sober and hadn't touched a drop. As quickly as the eye contact had been made it was broken again.

After the show Frank was still all worked up.

‘Hey Frank, the show was awesome, do you wanna go get a pizza or something like usual? You seem a little I dunno, off? Hey Frank? Frank?’

Frank was watching me but he didn't seem to be hearing anything I was saying. His eyes kept glancing from my eyes to my mouth.

“Frank?”

“I’m fine.” He breathed. All of a sudden he seemed a lot closer, staring up at me with his deep brown eyes. I got a little more nervous. Was he mad at me? I didn't think I’d done anything.

“Well, if you’re sure. I’m gonna go get a taxi I’m kinda tired, so I’ll see you around I guess so-“

And then he kissed me. It wasn't sweet or gentle, but the hard press of lips against lips, his hands gripping my shoulders tightly, his tongue swept across my lips. He realized I wasn't kissing back and slowly backed off. Why wasn't I kissing back?

“S-sorry Gerard I didn't- I’ll just- I’m sorry I’ll go now…”

I grabbed his hand making him turn around. I stepped closer, so close our toes were touching and our chests were pressed together.

“Hey Frank”

Slowly I joined our lips together in an almost chaste kiss. We sunk into the kiss, Frank wrapping his arms around my waist as I gripped his hips. He swept his tongue against my lips again and I immediately opened up to him. When we broke apart there felt like there was a tiny barrier of awkward between us, but at the same time it seemed like there was a magnetic force pulling us together.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I met you.” Frank said almost shyly

“Yea, me too.”

“So um, hey, would you maybe wanna go out some time?”

“Go out like we do now or y’know, go out go out?”

“I wanna go out go out. I like you Gerard. I really like you.”

“Good. Cuz I really like you too.”

“Cool, well. I’ll call you then.”

So we went out. We went out a lot. It was the first proper relationship since sobering up so we took things slowly. I had told Frank about my time with AA and all the shit that had happened and he was totally supportive. He never drank around me, even though I told him time and time again it was okay. About six months into the relationship Frank moved out of his shitty apartment, I moved out of my shitty apartment, and we bought a slightly less shitty apartment together.

Living with Frank was awesome. We had the same taste in music, films and the same sense of humor. It also helped that he was a great kisser and a fucking animal in bed, plus he didn't seem to realize how he was about a million miles out of my league. It was like living with your best friend, but also with all the romantic shit. 

We never argued, sure we’d have disagreements or mock argue over something stupid, but we’d never had a full blown argument. Well not up until the day everything that changed- clichéd as it may sound.

I’d just woken up at about 10am on a Saturday. I stumbled out of bed, tripped over something or other, and wandered into the kitchen to be greeted by a mad looking Frank, dressed in his work uniform, who happened to be clutching a piece of paper in his hand which in bold writing said ‘Final Notice’.

“Shit Gerard! When the fuck are you ever going to remember to do anything? I just got a letter from the landlord saying if we don’t give him the payment for this month, which is already a week overdue by the way, he’s gonna kick us out! You said you’d do it!”

“Sorry I just forgot. I’ll sort it out.”

“That’s not good enough! I've had it up to here with your bullshit! You forget to do everything! You ‘forget’ to do the dishes if I ask, you ‘forget’ to take out the trash, you ‘forget’ to fucking shower Gerard! I do everything around here and it’s fucking unfair! When are you gonna start pulling your weight?”

“When are you gonna stop being so fucking stressy all the time? Just calm the fuck down, I’ll sort it out okay?!”

“No, Gerard, it’s not okay! Sort yourself out.”

And with that he stormed out the door, got in his car, and started to drive to work.

At 11 ‘o clock I felt my phone vibrating in my jeans pocket, the little screen of my flip-phone saying 'Frankie'. “Oh.” I thought. Maybe he wanted to apologize for being such an asshole earlier.

“Hi Frank. What is it?”

“Oh honey,” said a voice that definitely wasn't Frank’s. It was Linda, Frank’s mom’s voice. My heart started beating ever so slightly faster and quickly becoming harder to ignore. What was going on? “Gerard, sweetie please, I need you to be strong, okay? Oh god, it’s so awful. Frank. It’s Frank. An accident, I think he was driving a little too fast and, well there was some drunk driver and- in the middle of the day too I wouldn't- it wasn't, oh Gerard… Gerard, just come to the hospital please-”

“Linda,” I said as calmly as I could, though on the inside I was terrified “Linda, tell me what happened, straight up, please.”

“There was a car accident. Frank was- Frank was driving to work and there was some man who’d been drinking and- he hit Frankie. You need to come straight to the hospital.”

So I did. I was greeted by a warm hug from Linda who took me to Frank’s room. Comatose Ward. “No. Oh no. It can’t, I can’t-“Then I saw him, lying there, pale and not quite lifeless, but definitely not alive.

I’d been visiting every day since then, and today was no exception. At first, I wasn't alone. To start off with I was surrounded by friends and family, all bringing flowers and shit, like somehow the presence of flowers would somehow affect Frank. He was in a coma for fuck’s sake. Then gradually, as the days turned into weeks, less and less visitors came, until I was the only one. I however, couldn't leave Frank’s side. I felt so guilty about everything. How I never pulled my weight, how he helped me so much and never expected anything in return, how the last thing Frank and I had done was argue; I just couldn't go. What if he woke up and I wasn't there? I needed to be there for him, like he was always there for me. So every day and I visited and I waited for him.

*six months later*  
I walked through the hospital doors as per usually and received a pitying smile from the receptionist and a glare from the middle aged nurse who thought being gay was ‘unnatural’ and ‘an atrocity against human nature’. Whatever. I walked through the door of his room in the coma ward, pulled up a chair and sat by Frank’s hospital bed. God, it was hard without him. The Umbrella Academy was accepted, but the release date had to be put forward another year, because every time I tried to write I just couldn't. Right now I just was in a permanent state of numbness. Days, weeks and months blurred into one long empty grey in which nothing ever happened. I missed him. 

I missed him and he wasn't even gone. The doctors said there was only a sixty per cent chance that he would ever wake up. It was like he was dead, but I couldn't morn for him and move on, because he wasn't gone. Each day passed with me thinking “He could wake up today,” and ended with “he didn't.” I’d visited him every day and talked to him about my day and how I was doing, update him on comics or tell him about crappy horror movies I’d gone to see by myself and I’d tell him how much all of his friends missed him and how loved he was.

I’d been sitting in silence for about ten minutes, just holding his hand, when I felt the first drop of a salty tear slowly trickle down my face. Then there was a second tear. I’d tried so hard to be strong about this, but now Frank and I were alone, I could finally release all the pent up emotion inside of me. I sobbed loudly and collapsed, grasping at the sheets of the hospital bed in one hand, tightly squeezing Frank’s motionless hand in the other. 

“Frank, I’m so fucking sorry. I never got to- I never got to tell you how much you meant and now, and now- I just miss you so fucking much! Every single day I think about you, I need you so much Frank, I always have and I just- it’s really hard I don’t know what I did before Frank I can’t do this, I can’t do this without and you I need you. I need you, I need you, I need you. Frank. I love you so much Frank”

I held his hand so tight. I’d never got to tell him that I loved him.

“I love you Frank.” I whispered.

When I felt it I thought it must have been my imagination. It couldn't be. But then it happened a second time. Frank ever so gently, but undeniably squeezed my hand.

“Frank? Frank!”

He was gaining consciousness, minute by minute he was returning from his state of grey. It wasn't visible but slowly, but ever so surely, I could feel the spark coming back.

“Nurse! Nurse! It’s Frank! Come help he just, he’s waking up!”

I spent every waking moment with Frank after that- three days straight, day and night, whilst he gained consciousness.

When he woke up I was there.


End file.
